


Like Blood from a Wound

by mautadite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, The Lady's Kiss, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ygritte laughs at that. Asha likes the way she laughs; loudly, and with abandon, as if no one can hear her. These past several days have shown her that Ygritte is quicker with her fists than with her laugh, which only makes it that much more satisfying when Asha coaxes the sound from her throat.</p><p>(Asha and Ygritte; a courtship from end to beginning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Blood from a Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ASOIAF kink meme. Prompt: ‘Asha/Ygritte. canon au or modern au. Lord's Kiss.’ Lady’s kiss ;)

**v.**

Asha takes her time, sucking a dark red hickey onto Ygritte’s thigh, leaving her mark. The redhead’s legs are spread wide, and every now and then she’ll give a slight pump of her hips, but Asha doesn’t answer to coy demands or wordless pleas. She is a woman on a mission; she wants to see if this bloodspot can give rise to enough colour to match the swollen dark red of Ygritte’s nipples.

She looks up in time to see Ygritte palming her breasts and teasing those self-same tips, and her breathless moans seem to make her flesh taste sweeter. Asha pulls back to appreciate her work; wet and dull crimson, the spot stands out starkly on the milk white of her thigh. Pleased, she pushes against the hickey with a finger; Ygritte moans louder, guttural and choked.

“Do you always make this much noise?” Asha wants to know, cupping Ygritte by the patellas so that she can spread her legs even wider, look down at her as she opens up. She’s got a very pretty pussy; pale lips to contrast with the pinkness within and the smattering of freckles without. “Am I going to have to gag you?”

“If you even fucking _try_ …” Ygritte warns. The threat falls flat on her twisting body and trembling voice. Asha smiles, crouching down closer, mouth inches away from the triangle of fire-red hair between her legs, and the smooth pink skin beneath it. She laughs when Ygritte tenses up, laughs again when the puff of her breath makes the younger girl keen and moan. “Should’ve known you’d be a tease,” she grits out.

“Me? A tease?” Asha makes herself comfortable, settling in on her stomach with her legs in the air. Her short, clipped sentences are barked out in close proximity, and she blasts a stream of air against Ygritte’s clit for good measure, too. The redhead cries out. 

“Just don’t… _fuck_. Don’t just look at it!” she whines, wriggling her hips, trying to push her cunt into Asha’s face. Asha’s having none of that, though, and stops her movement with hands on her hips.

“And why shouldn’t I look at it? You’ve got a nice cunt,” she adds, and uses just the tip of her nose to brush against Ygritte’s clit. The resultant shudder seems to shake the bed. Asha laughs, kissing the white thigh again. It’s true; it’s a cunt that was made for kissing. She does so, briefly, letting her mouth rest gossamer-light against Ygritte in a faint pucker, and listens out for the convulsive breath that follows. She could do this all day, feint and pull back and feint again, but Ygritte seems to be catching on. 

“Put your mouth on me,” she begs through clenched teeth, breath short. “Lick me. Please,” she adds at Asha’s arched brow. Asha bends, nuzzles the crease of her thigh.

“Polite is a good look on you,” she remarks, and lets her tongue wiggle into Ygritte’s entrance, gathering moisture and spreading it. Ygritte’s hips bucks off the bed, and stay there as Asha covers her cunt with her lips, opens her mouth to let her tongue swipe back and forth over her clit, her lips, into the centre of her deepest wetness. A shout whips through the air, and Asha chuckles, both because of the little vibrations it will cause, and because her neighbours really are going to get together to oust her out of the building, at this rate. She couldn’t be further from caring.

“God… yes, I… yes, fuck!” Ygritte grunts as she moves her hips, hands coming down to grip Asha’s hair. She’s most sensitive on her clit, and Asha doesn’t hesitate to exploit that: cradling it between her lips like a sweet, flicking it with her tongue, rubbing it hard when Asha slicks her tongue down to penetrate with a slide. Ygritte comes gasping and groaning, shaking about on the bed like a wild thing.

“Fuck!” she explodes again, flopping back against the sheets. Asha continues moving her lips and tongue about for a spell, enjoying her taste and the way Ygritte’s knees tremble on either side of her head, kissing and sucking at her until Ygritte’s fingers scramble at her shoulders, and she collapses into shakes and moans a second time, trying, but unable to clamp her legs shut.

By the time Asha moves up to lie next to her, she’s regained her breath, and wastes no time in pinning Asha down to the mattress. She goes willingly, smiling smugly up at Ygritte’s flushed face and her fire-red curls, tossed about her face.

“That was even better th—” She breaks off, and then continues firmly. “We’re doing that again.” She kisses Asha before she can reply, fierce and quick. “And again, and again, and again.”

Asha’s hands slide down her body to squirm out of her panties; Ygritte moves aside to make room.

“I guess that means we’ll be seeing each other again,” she drawls, and tosses her underwear to the floor. Ygritte grins, straddling her once more as she bites down on her lower lip. Her crooked teeth are very white against the red, and she makes her answers into kisses that she presses into the curve of Asha’s breasts.

“And again, and again, and...”

**iv.**

“...And I still can’t believe you’ve got a _boat_. Are you secretly a sixty year old man?”

Asha doesn’t bother to reply to that last part as she makes the short leap from boardwalk to deck. She also doesn’t look behind her, but hears the thump when Ygritte does the same. With her long-legged stride, she leads the way across the deck striped with moonlight and cloudshadow, heading towards the bow.

“You should be flattered,” she calls back as the wind whips up some noise. _Black Wind_ sways, and instinctively, Asha throws back a hand, and is pleased to find that Ygritte hesitates barely a second before taking it. “I only bring three kinds of people onto my boat: family, close friends, and people I want to fuck.”

Ygritte laughs at that. Asha likes the way she laughs; loudly, and with abandon, as if no one can hear her. These past several days have shown her that Ygritte is quicker with her fists than with her laugh, which only makes it that much more satisfying when Asha coaxes the sound from her throat.

“Oh? What should I take this to mean, then?”

Asha takes a seat on the little bench she has installed in the front, back to the water, one arm thrown over the gunwale and the other hand still holding on to Ygritte’s.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“That you want… to adopt me?” Ygritte’s eyes shine with mischief. Asha rakes her eyes over her slowly, then quirks her lips upward in half a smile.

“Clearly,” she shoots back. “What else?”

The redhead grins that crooked grin again, and finally snatches her hand away. Asha watches as she plants her hands on her hips and makes a full turn, gaze directed upwards. It’s an almost completely starless night, and the wind is out in full force, just as it had been on the night Asha won her beloved off of a drunk in a poker game, and christened her anew. Ygritte looks at place here, almost glowing against the dark, with her luminous hair and pale skin.

“It’s alright,” she announces, facing Asha once again. “For a boat, and all.”

“I haven’t even taken you for a ride yet.” Asha spreads her legs comfortably. The deck is still swaying slightly, but she feels more at home here than she does on still ground.

“Well, there’s always time for that.” Ygritte eyes her up, a mirror of Asha’s earlier look, and then stalks towards her, and climbs slowly, and deliberately, into her lap. Asha lets her, amused, and spreads a palm on the small of Ygritte’s back. Only a think shirt separates her skin from the cold.

“What are you doing?” Asha asks, voice cool. 

“Giving you that dance I promised you,” Ygritte whispers. And her hips do move up and down, her belly undulating. She isn’t wearing a bra, and Asha can see the dark tightness of her nipples through her shirt. Whatever music she dances to is in her head, and in the wind, tunnelling around them. The sexiest thing about her, Asha decides, is that she doesn’t try to be sexy; not consciously, anyway. She touches her legs and stomach and throws her hair back and out of her way and sucks on her lips, and Asha looks, and just looks. 

Something tells her there’ll be time to do more than look, later.

**iii.**

“What’s that look about?”

Asha has to raise her voice to be heard above the thrumming bass that pulses from beneath the bar and echoes off the red brick walls. She and Ygritte collect their beers and head towards a table in the back, out of the way of the music and the people trying to awkwardly dance amongst the chairs. The bar sits off the side of an alleyway downtown, and the sign sitting outside has long fallen prey to petty vandalism, but it seems to be a popular spot nonetheless.

Ygritte shrugs, and waits until they’re sitting to reply.

“Dunno. Guess I wasn’t expecting you to accept.”

“And I wasn’t really expecting you to call, but—” Asha raises her bottle, and salutes her with it. She always takes what’s offered, in some fashion or other. And the invitation had sounded genuine, if slightly surly. 

“I really wasn’t going to, but then I thought about it, and figured it’d piss Snow off,” Ygritte says with unabashed truthfulness. “It’s like he’s got a stick up his arse where anyone named Greyjoy is concerned.”

Asha laughs. 

“So that’s what this is? Not a thank you drink, but a rebound drink?”

A careless shrug is thrown her way. 

“If that’s what you want to think. I wasn’t _actually_ considering sleeping with you.” But Asha sees the look tipped her way over the top of Ygritte’s bottle; considering, evaluating. It’s the same look that Ygritte levels her with all night, as they discuss Jon Snow’s pretty but unfortunately sanctimonious mouth, Asha’s relative lack of resemblance to Theon, Heads on Pykes, Ygritte’s old mentor, Mance, who had apparently been the one to show her how to throw such an excellent right hook, and anything else that happens to touch their tongues. 

She’s being analysed, Asha knows as she leans back comfortably in her chair, watching as Ygritte collects their fourth round. A familiar feeling, but different here. Comfortable, in that she knows she won’t be found wanting, but impatient, too. She wants to get to the next part. Already, she’s thought twice of what that hair would feel like, wrapped around her fingers.

“We should stop dancing around the real topic sometime soon,” she mentions when Ygritte returns. She gets a suspicious look as the redhead slides the bottle across the table; one that dissolves into narrow-eyed amusement when Asha clarifies: “How much you want to, but don’t know how to say thank you.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” she queries with a raised brow. “Dancing?” 

Asha tilts her head, as if to say ‘what else?’ Ygritte smiles, and then she _does_ surprise Asha, leaning across the table to grab the back of her neck and pull her into a warm, slow kiss. Asha grips an upper arm, feeling the flesh hot beneath her hand, and the music retreats into the background as she curls her tongue forward. If nothing else, it’s good to know that she hadn’t read her wrong. But there _is_ something else; an electricity in the way that their tongues touch that tells Asha that this is neither the beginning nor the end.

“I’ll have to give you a real dance sometime, then,” Ygritte murmurs, eyes alight with challenge. She pulls back, straightens her shoulders, and excuses herself to the bathroom with a toothy smirk. Asha watches her go, hips swaying, and doesn’t think of all that ways that could be interpreted.

**ii.**

Except she does.

And sooner than she would have expected. Her band doesn’t usually get many gigs this time of year; the weather’s getting colder, Christmas is around the corner, and barely anyone is in the mood for grungy metal. But apparently this one café close to the docks is, so four days after her trip to the Stark house, Asha and the rest of Heads on Pykes ends up playing their full set list and a few covers to a crowded, smoky room. They give good energy, and Asha has a good time, feeding off of it and throwing it back.

Afterwards, Tris wants to borrow her guitar, and she hands it over with threats on his manhood if anything happens to it, and several refusals of his offer to give her a ride back. Her apartment isn’t far and she likes walking near the sea, with the smell of salt and iron hanging off her lips.

Asha leaves them loading the last of the equipment into Tristifer’s truck, and sets off down the street. Most of the streetlamps along the road have been busted, but she walks confidently in the low dark, with the roar of the waves in her ears and her hands tunnelled deep into her pockets. If she squints just so towards the horizon, she can almost make out the _Black Wind_ with her bone white sails trimmed with red, bobbing gently in the marina.

The wind cuts through her jacket, whistling so hard she can barely hear her own footfalls against the pavement. Asha turns down a side street, heading away from the docks. 

This time, she sees her first, red hair a blur in the new light provided by the lamps, moving amidst a quartet of larger shadows. Then the wind dies, and Asha hears her too, and the voice snarling at the shadows clicks within her memory surprisingly quickly — _Ygritte_ , weird name, she’d snorted when Theon told her — and then Asha surges forward and into action without a second thought.

She feeds the first man her boot, crunching down hard on his instep and ducking his wild arms when he tries to grab her. He stumbles, and she daggers out of the way to let him fall against one of his companions. The third man holds a knapsack in his arms, looking more bewildered than anything at the turn of events, and it is quick work to snatch it out of his grasp, and elbow him in the nose with a hard crunch. Blood spurts. Asha dances out of the spray, and whirls to face the fourth man, just in time to see the redhead crack him a gorgeous punch to the stomach, hair flying just like blood from the wound.

They don’t stick around for long, not after Asha slips a knife out of her boot and Ygritte belts out a warrior-like cry that’s sure to bring help running. The men turn on their heels and disappear into the dark, throwing menacing sounding threats behind them. Asha considers heading after them; the adrenaline and the cold night air egg her on. Common sense makes her stick to the spot, and re-conceal her knife before anyone else appears.

“You alri— …right.”

The girl snatches the bag from Asha’s arms before she can get the sentence out, and Asha doesn’t attempt to stop her. She sees the moment that recognition flickers into the pale eyes; they narrow into slits before filling up with disbelief. 

Asha cocks a brow at her. Under the lamplight and amidst the shadows, her hair seems redder and more alive than ever, clashing brilliantly with the orange in her sweater and the flush in her cheeks.

Nothing said, Asha turns to go.

“Wait!” Ygritte calls. Asha has half a mind not to, but stills her footsteps anyway. Ygritte is standing with her hands wrapped around her knapsack, the picture of distrust. “You’re that kid’s sister.”

It’s not a question, so Asha stays silent.

“You didn’t have to… fuck, you didn’t have to do that.”

Asha blinks blandly at her.

“But I did. Don’t tell me you’re going to start angsting about it.”

When Ygritte doesn’t reply, Asha turns to leave again. A crowd might be fast-approaching, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with that. Once again, though, the voice stops her. Asha swivels, gives her her best ‘this better be good’ look.

“I don’t want to fucking owe you anything,” Ygritte announces, chin high. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Make it up to me?” She’s amused; a simple ‘thanks’ would have been enough. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she snaps, tossing that wild hair over her shoulders in a movement that Asha can’t help but follow with her eyes. “Anything, whatever.”

Hm.

“Then I guess I’ll let you surprise me,” Asha says, smirking faintly.

**i.**

“Then you know nothing, Jon Snow!”

The voice is the first thing she hears. The Starks have a ridiculously long driveway leading up to their Victorian monster of a house, but pretty much no security at the gate. Asha had made quick work of jumping that, the buzzer being out of commission. She catches her first glimpse of the house just as the voice rings out, and then.

Then she sees the hair. Asha’s never been one for gingers, but the girl’s got a striking head of curls on her, dancing in the wind as she stalks furiously down the path, and Asha can’t help but admire it, briefly. The face it’s connected to isn’t exactly pretty — someone might say ‘interesting’, to be generous — but the hair… It seems to move with a life of its own, as if it and the girl were separate.

Fanciful bullshit. She turns her mind to the task at hand.

“Theon in there?” she asks as the girl approaches, kicking up leaves with her wild gait. The immediate reply is a surprised sort of snarl, showing a flash of crooked teeth, but Asha just jerks her head towards the house for clarification. That seems to provoke her more, and she answers with a sneer of malice.

“You mean the one who’s always cat fighting with Snow for a position on Robb Stark’s cock?” 

Asha shrugs. Worse, and less accurate things have been said of her brother.

“Sure, him. He there?”

Her distinct lack of ruffled feathers sets the girl even more on edge. She whips her hair over her shoulders, and actually spits on the ground before gritting her teeth.

“Maybe he is, maybe he ain’t; go check yourself. I’m nobody’s fucking maid.”

“Fuck you too,” Asha replies coolly, and turns on her heel, leaving the girl standing there. It’s a while before the angry footsteps move on, but Asha is more interested in the fast approaching figure of Jon — the brother, stepbrother, cousin, hired help, she doesn’t care — coming down the pathway. She waylays him with a grab at his collar, asking after her brother again, utterly driving the girl and her brilliant red hair from her mind. She’ll probably never see her again.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the best parts of writing this was imagining Jon and Theon's reactions. Haha.


End file.
